I hear a tight jazz quartet smacking out lead-bottomed bass tinkling a shaker, with a half-open hi-hat some soft-fingered ivory tickling peppered with a gritty groan and cigarette smoke I sit, and listen, and I think to myself: why can’t life be just like that? -BSB
the Vietnam War has ruined so much good music for me CCR, The Doors – I cannot hear the songs without thinking of bombs dropping skanky Asian prostitutes and yokels abroad smoking cigarettes and talking about Charlie thankfully Zeppelin and Zappa they seemed to stay untainted un-coloured by the jaded brush-strokes held by history’s hand
we live in an age of constant bombardment even when I take a piss there’s a sign on the urinal handle ANIMAL NATION whatever that means before my face hangs a poster THE ORCHID HIGHWAY PRESENTS DIRTY BLUE GROOVE I realize that now, as for decades funk, art, rebellion and the fringe has and alwaysContinue reading “modern advertising in the head”
it’s hot with humanity and steamed milk the baby-faced soloist on stage has a voice that shakes fingers snap against guitar strings microphone turned up too loud I can’t enjoy myself here too much about this bothers me from the heat to the people and that bearded cretin behind the counter I’d rather be curledContinue reading “attending the coffee shop gig”
a song comes over the booming speakers it’s a tune that I recommended months ago to the general manager even though I come in only once in a while the patrons still listen to my music I practically own the place they should give me stock or at least a plaque to honour me maybeContinue reading “I like to think that I own this place”
if I blew into you with a sparkle in my eye and kind thought in my mind would you make music like a flute?